I am the Misery You Crave

It was down pouring outside, and Cliff didn’t have an umbrella. He was on his way home from Fletch’s apartment, which itself had been quite the experience. Of course while there with Cleo and a few other friends he had to pretend like he didn’t notice her obsession with the other guy; that she’d been all over him one minute and then all over Fletch the next. It was annoying, to say the least. He’d stolen a package of cigarettes from Fletcher’s apartment – nothing the guy would miss, he knew – and a lighter.

He darted through the rain to get to a more secluded location on the edge of the high school neighborhoods. It was close enough he could see his house, but far enough away no one could really see him. It had to be nearing midnight. He leaned against the wall of the fence, the small overhang above him giving him some shelter from the downpour. His hair was damp, and his shirt was clinging to his skin. He brought a cigarette up to his lips and lit the tip, allowing the nicotine to be sucked into his lungs. As the minutes ticked by he stood and watched the rain, ignoring his phone. Cleo might be texting him – she might not be – she probably wasn’t.

When he heard someone approaching Cliff glared over, only to find it was Peter. Well, at least it wasn’t Johnathan trying to check up on him again. Imagine the horror if he caught Cliff smoking? Cliff rolled his eyes at the thought.

”I was fine to just stand here ignoring you. You’re the one who had to talk to me.” He said, a plume of smoke coming from his lips with the words. Peter was drenched, head to toe. He looked like he came from some gothic movie set. He hadn’t seen the guy really since the morning after they’d screwed. He frowned. ”I was hoping I crippled you for life. It’s a shame you can walk normally now.”

Rain poured in sheets, and Cliff remained safe and secure under the canopy. He glared at Peter, who had grown unwelcomely close to escape the downpour. He was complaining about the cigarette, too. Cliff narrowed his eyes at the comment Peter made and, to prove a point, Cliff took a long drag of his cigarette and blew it right in Peter’s face.

”You’re the one standing under my canopy.” He said, flicking ashes to the ground. He crushed them with the heel of his feet. ”I don’t know why you’re still here. But I’m not going anywhere ‘till this rain goes away.”

Cliff watched as Peter fanned away the smoke, with a grin on his face. It had bothered him, just as he hoped it would. He glanced at the rain and shrugged. ”Yeah? Well, too bad. I don’t feel pity.”

When he said the area didn’t have his name on it Cliff shrugged. ”Yeah? It doesn’t got yours either, I was here first, so I’m going to keep smoking. And if you don’t like it you can fucking leave.” He said. He glanced at the guy, who was staring down at the ground. He flicked ash towards his feet. ”And if you’re going to mope around, you should probably leave too. As you know I’m not very nice, and I’m not in a very good mood tonight.”

”Are you trying to imply I don’t get girls?” Cliff snorted. That was a joke. He wouldn’t call himself a player, but he had Cleo. And he’d seen a few other girls looking his way, now that he was taller and broader shouldered. He worked out for that reason – to impress girls.

He glanced to Peter, who was most definitely egging him on. ”Maybe. That, or I’ll do this,” He took a puff of smoke in and blew it right in Peter’s face – again. He smirked in satisfaction at the sight. ”You’d be surprised what I have in me. I’ll beat you black and blue if you piss me off enough. The only reason I wouldn't, is that it might make Pippa cry.”

He turned to look at the sheets of rain pouring down, finding it weird Peter wasn’t avoiding him after the last time they’d met. Well, he wasn’t going anywhere, it wasn’t like he had anything to hide. So what? He’d fucked Peter? At least he’d been the dominant one. If Peter wanted to keep degrading himself he was welcome to hang around.

”Your insults don’t work if I’m not insulted.” Cliff pointed out, smirking in satisfaction when the smoke made Peter scrunch his nose. His following comments didn’t bother Cliff much – they just amused him. ”As you should be. Well, that’s not the worst I can do, but you haven’t pissed me off yet. Unlike you, I don’t pick fights for absolutely zero reason.”

When he insinuated the only way he could act on anything was when he was drunk, though, Cliff felt annoyed. He could act on his impulses when sober. That was a lie. He narrowed his eyes. ”Not true. I just have a brain and know when to actually follow through with my threats. If you’re talking about when we fucked, that was an experiment. I told you. I was curious about sex with a guy,” he brought the cigarette to his lips and took a long drag, the tip of it lighting orange as he did so. ”I would have done it sober too, but you happened to find me drunk. Besides. You were high. Don’t act all noble.”

When he was suddenly grabbed, Cliff’s cigarette fell out of his hand and slid into the mud. He frowned, glaring at Peter who kept egging him on. Seriously? Did this guy was an ass beating? Now he was getting annoying, Cliff just wanted to stay here minding his own business. If Pippa cried about this, it was on Peter, no Cliff.

Cliff grabbed Peter by the shoulders and whirled around, slamming him harshly into the stone wall that held up the awning the two were standing under. Lightning flashed in the background and Cliff grabbed Peter, pulled him away from the stone wall, and slammed him harshly against it again.

”Just shut up!” He yelled, hoping he’d knocked that smirk right off of Peter’s face. ”I will beat the shit out of you if you don’t leave me alone. You goddamn creep!”

Did this guy want to die? Cliff glared at him, their faces now extremely close together due to the position Cliff held him in. He momentarily glanced down the guy’s face -- down his nose, to his lips, to his chest – before he grit his teeth together and grabbed for the other guy’s tie. He tugged on it – hard – suddenly feeling nails digging into his shoulder. Cliff grimaced and hoped he choked.

He roughly brought his knee up while clutching Peter’s tie and slammed it into Peter’s gut, hard, squishing him further against the wall. After that Cliff released his tie and brushed off his shirt. ”You get the picture now? I’m not bluffing. Fuck. Off.” he said. He was still close to Peter – still being held by the other boy’s hands – and seized the opportunity to grab him and slam him against the wall again.